


Second Chances

by greygerbil



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU: No Aragorn/Arwen Romance, Boromir Lives, M/M, Mpreg, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-20 14:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20677184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Though Aragorn made him his steward, Boromir expected that their fledling affection, which had developed on the road, would be done and forgotten after his betrayal. He tries to avoid his king as much as possible, but Aragorn has something important to tell him.





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).

Boromir had never been one for tales, not if they did not speak of battles, but when he looked at King Elessar, he felt what Faramir must experience when he got lost to the world reading his scrolls. They had called Aragorn’s forbearers the sea-kings and Boromir could imagine him on the prow of a ship, tall in the wind, the winged crown on his brow, cloak billowing in the squalls, even as Aragorn simply walked down the halls of the White Tower that had been Boromir’s home all his life.

Seeing him here, it seemed almost strange to Boromir how openly he had quarrelled with him about their decisions and directions on the journey, how he’d doubted him at the Council. He was not one to bend the knee quickly, but his new king suddenly seemed to demand obedience through his sheer presence.

Though Aragorn had always claimed royal blood and Boromir had not mistrusted him on that count with so many vouching for him, he’d seemed barely more than a vagabond warrior, always at Boromir’s side for the tasks that needed raw strength and skill with the sword above all. It had not seemed odd, then, to steal away with a man like that for a few minutes here and there. Boromir had always enjoyed trysts of this sort, another soldier in his arms, breeches down to their knees as they hastily took their pleasure from each other in a moment between their duties. He’d wished for slower nights with Aragorn in silence, but all hopes of that had been dashed after he’d let the ring spoil his mind. Aragorn had saved his life and brought him to Rohan to recuperate, of course. He’d even declared Boromir his steward and him and Faramir Princes of Ithilien. Those were honours given to his predecessors, though, or to Faramir, Boromir was certain of that. They could not be for him and his late father, who had both caused great shame to fall on their family – even though Boromir’s wrongdoings were for now a secret kept by the Fellowship alone.

With those thoughts heavy in his head, Boromir avoided the presence of the king when not required there by protocol or duty, even though he felt Aragorn’s eyes on him often enough. Instead, he spent time in the barracks, where he had always been most comfortable, rebuilding the armies of Gondor after the battles that had cost many losses. He’d fought with the Rohirrim before Mordor, as he’d just recovered enough to travel with their armies, and heard the tales of his own men gladly now.

One day, however, Aragorn rose from his throne after the audiences and stopped Boromir with a resolute gesture from leaving the room. The gentler attempts to gather his attention he’d been ready to ignore, but Boromir had no intention of disobeying the king openly, and so he stood.

“I have need to talk to you in private, Boromir.”

“Yes, King Elassar.”

Stiffly, he followed Aragorn down a long hallway with windows that allowed a sweeping gaze over the city shining white like foam on the water in the morning light. Summer had truly settled in now and the heat was starting to grow, oppressive and stifling, not aiding Boromir’s mood.

Aragorn opened the door to a small meeting chamber, empty but for a table and chairs, seemingly chosen at random. He waited for Boromir to enter before he shut the door.

“Has Faramir departed yet?”

For some reason, Boromir had a feeling that this was not what Aragorn had actually wanted to ask, just from the way his eyes searched Boromir’s face as he waited.

“Just this morning,” he answered, anyway. “He has always liked Ithilien, so it surprises me that he volunteered to lead this envoy to the Rohirrim instead of remaining there, but I am sure he will do well.”

“So am I.” Aragorn inclined his head. “I mean to tell no secret of your brother’s and I may well be mistaken, but I have a feeling that the lord of the riders has greatly impressed him while he was present at court. It may have something to do with that.”

There was a suggestion in Aragorn’s tone that had Boromir look up in surprise, though only for a moment. Faramir and him, though in many ways different, had always had similarities as well. After all, it was not King Elassar who had first taken hold of Boromir’s attention, but Aragorn with windswept hair and mud-stained cloak; so why should his brother not grow fond of a wild but kind man on the back of a fast horse?

“We will see,” Aragron said. He paused for a moment before he drew himself up. “Well! This is harder to speak of than I thought.”

Boromir wondered what could be troubling his king so in their dealings that he would feel the need to discuss it like this. There was one easy answer, of course.

“If it’s my punishment, I have been waiting for it. I will accept whatever you think just.”

By all laws of men and others, Boromir was still a traitor. However, Aragorn frowned at him.

“Punishment? You have gathered that yourself, Boromir, from the arrows and blades of orcs. I have nothing to add. No.” He rounded the table to stand before Boromir and as he collected himself, he looked as tall and imposing as he ever had on the throne. “I am with child.”

“With child!” Boromir exclaimed. It was the last thing he’d expected to hear today.

Aragorn nodded.

“Five months, I should guess, if that. It may have happened in Lothlórien, though I show much less than many others at this stage. Still, as there was no one after you, it must at least be that old.”

“You never told me you could carry children.”

Aragorn raised a brow at him.

“Gondor cannot yet have lost so much lore that I would have had to, has it?”

“No,” Boromir admitted.

He should have thought of it himself. All the men of Aragorn’s line had been able to bear children, though not all had made use of it. The old blood of the Dúnedain made no difference between men and women in that regard; even Boromir and Faramir had been delicately advised to be careful, should they engage in such activity, as it still ran in their veins.

“I thought I had protected myself enough. Moonshadow still grew along the way when we came into the golden woods and I always had some, but... even such measures fail at times and we joined often enough.”

Boromir’s gaze strayed to Aragorn’s middle. He wore his royal garments loosely, always had, but he looked so different on a whole that it hadn’t occurred to him to get hung up on such a detail.

“Soon enough I won’t be able to hide,” Aragorn said, as in response. “People will ask for the other father’s name. As a ranger, I may well have demanded to keep my secrets, but as king, I must give them some answer as to the lineage of the person who will sit the throne after me.”

“What would you tell them if not the truth?” Boromir asked.

Aragorn gave a pale smile. “I’d speak of a man of the north, perhaps. A hunter, an old friend, without tribe but with honour, fallen among the many we sacrificed at Gondor.”

It would be a comfortable lie, one few would be able to disprove. Boromir doubted he would be able to live in Gondor knowing he’d engendered such deceit. Would he even be able to tell his child the truth? Not until they were old enough that they could be trusted not to speak of it, certainly. Would Aragorn allow him to do it at all?

“It is not a bad story, but I would that people know of the real father if it is at all possible.”

“I thought that you might,” Aragorn said with a nod and smiled at him. For a moment, he looked just like the man who had trekked through the country with him again, friendly, self-confident, a little exhausted like any wanderer at the end of a long journey. “I remember you once told me that you’d rather walk a plain road, though it led through a hedge of swords, than follow me on strange paths.”

It soothed Boromir that at least Aragorn still thought that much of him, though he knew not all may have seen his doggedness as a good quality. However, he had a feeling that even if Aragorn thought him too reluctant in dealing with many things of magic and old lore, he still appreciated Boromir’s resolve.

Certainly, of course, this revelation would bring gossip with it. Boromir would have been a decent choice for a king thanks to his birth, but the fact that they were not wed would raise eyebrows.

“You will make the child your heir?” Boromir asked.

“Yes. They are my firstborn and with women like Éowyn fighting alongside their brothers in arms for their people in this age, I see no reason why a daughter couldn’t be as good a queen as a son would be a king.”

Boromir nodded his head. It seemed odd, but Gondor had survived greater upheaval now and holding too fast to old traditions had not led them to glory.

“I know you can legitimise the babe, being the king, but your future husband or wife might take offence if a bastard-born child is in rank above theirs.”

Aragorn shook his head.

“My future husband or wife will be wise enough to understand, or they will not be my future husband or wife.” He halted. “And for now, my affections are still otherwise occupied.”

“Indeed? Who is keeping you?” Boromir asked, with a twinge of jealousy he hoped he’d kept out of his voice.

Aragorn frowned, though it smoothed out into an understanding sort of smile.

“It pains me that you must ask, but I cannot blame you. We had not so much time together, but you left an impression on me that was deep and abiding.” He shook his head. “Be that as it may, I am not sorry that you are the father of my child.”

Had Aragorn not born the crown upon his head and stern wisdom in his voice, Boromir may have grabbed him and kissed him, not willing to let the sliver of an opportunity pass. As it was, he hesitated only a second before he dropped to his knee and grabbed his hand, as a knight ought to do with his king.

“King Elessar, if you will still have me, after all that happened, you need only ask. I will gladly admit to the child and I will be at your side for all the land to see.”

Surprise spread over Aragorn’s face, but then he laughed and raised him up by his shoulders.

“Stand, Boromir. And I am still Aragorn to you when we are alone, or Elessar if you prefer, but in any case not just your king.”

“But that you are, too.”

Aragorn pulled him fiercely closer and Boromir kissed him, after all, his heart leaping in his chest. He was granted mercy fairer than the title of prince or his status at court; he could be sure of Aragorn’s forgiveness.

Impulsively, Boromir put his hand between them and felt Aragorn’s stomach. When he smoothed down the fabric of his clothes, the curve was undeniable. Aragorn would indeed not be able to hide much longer.

“Have you spoken to a healer yet? I suppose you wouldn’t have to.”

After all, Aragorn had kept Boromir alive when it seemed all but impossible. He would likely be able to tell if his child was unwell.

“I know some of the arts myself, but now that I must no longer keep my secret for decorum, I will ask a midwife to make sure.”

Aragorn placed his hand over Boromir’s, the skin still calloused and uneven with scars, perfect just as Boromir remembered it.

“There will be no censure that you did not marry while you were fighting a war, but perhaps you would want to consider it now,” he said slowly, much like a man testing the ice on a lake with his foot to see if it would hold him. “If you are inclined to it. It wouldn’t have to be right-away.”

“You are right, I should think about that. Obviously, my steward is a very sensible man.”

Aragorn gave him that smile again, the old one, and Boromir knew what he would be fighting for from now on.


End file.
